This is from Chapter 9 in my novel Seeing . . .
On his way home that evening after what had been a long day, he called his house. Bonita answered on the third ring. “Jones’ Trucking,” her delicate voice said with a professional tone.
He couldn’t help himself—he laughed. “Wow. That has a nice ring to it. I like it.”
“Micah Jones! I didn’t recognize your number yet.”
He heard the fluster in her voice, and it made him smile. “How’re you, Bonita?”
“I’m fine, Micah Jones. How are you?”
He could hear a smile in her tone. “Well, I’m frustrated by all the typical traffic, but it’s always like this. I shouldn’t let it bother me. Anyway, it’ll be probably another 45 minutes before I’m home. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thank you, Micah Jones. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
“Sounds good, Bonita. See ya a little later.”
His cell phone rang immediately after the call. “Micah, here,” he answered, expecting it to be Bonita calling him back.
“Hi, little brother.”
“Mary, Mary, what’s up?”
“Did Marin get in touch with you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“Very funny, Micah. Now answer my question.”
“Yes. She’s taking me to dinner a week from Saturday. Now do you want to tell me what to wear and not to chew with my mouth open?”
“Why not this Saturday?”
“Because I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Mary, you’re not my mother.”
“Wow. Is there another woman in your life?”
Leave it to Mary to zero in on the situation.
“Why would you ask that, Mary?” He was baffled by her intuition.
“Uh, let me see. My cute little brother doesn’t do like . . . hmm, anything ever. He usually sees his friends on Friday evenings or Sundays after church. Usually, the only thing he does on a Saturday night is visit his sister and her husband or holes up at home watching movies by himself. Uh, there isn’t a special event going on at church. And you can’t go out to dinner this Saturday night because?”
Micah was silent. His sister was right. Down to the last detail. There had been nothing unpredictable in his life for years—other than the spiritual occurrences.
“It’s alright, Micah.”
He heard the apologetic regret in her voice. “You’re right, Mary. I have a guest at the house. It’s a woman. She was beaten up pretty bad. I brought her home for a week.”
“Is it safe?” Mary asked after a few moments.
“How exactly do you mean that?”
“I mean, whoever hurt her won’t find you or her, will he?”
The genuine concern filled her question.
“No.”
“I’m sorry for her.”
“Yeah. She’s healing. From the beating anyway.”
“Meaning?” she gently probed.
“She’s had a lousy life, Mary. From early on.”
“How old is she?”
“Not sure. Somewhere around my age, although I’m pretty sure she’s younger.”
There were a few more moments of quiet before his sister asked, “Attractive?”
Micah hesitated. His sister waited. “Yeah. She is, Mary. In her own way, she is.”
There. He’d admitted it. Rough-hewn, street smart, hardened by life, yet . . . attractive to him.
“And you’re okay?”
His sister loved him. She asked the hard questions because of her love for him. No matter what he did or said, she would never stop loving him. He could always tell her the truth. “Yeah, Mare. I’m okay. It’s been . . . different. In a good way.”
“I love you, Micah.”
Her voice mixed sadness with joy—he didn’t know how. Sorrow and hope. She wanted the best for him, but he knew instinctively if she engaged in comparisons, Marin would stack up more favorably than Bonita for her little brother. The thought brought regret.
“I know you do. And I love you for it.”
Father, you know the words to all my stories. You give them to me as I go. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.